Waving Flag
by Maximilliminute
Summary: "All I've ever wanted was to wave my flag. Not a white flag, but mine. But what right would I have to do that, when all I've been accomplishing has been worth nothing at all?" Italy takes a good look at himself, and all that he's done, and wonders whether he actually deserves the title 'nation'. Rated T to be safe.
1. Prologue

Waving Flag

An Axis Powers Hetalia Fanfiction

Prologue

They were on the training ground again. Germany and Italy, although working together, had lost another battle to the combined forces of America and England. As usual, Italy was all smiles, frolicking about and thinking about pasta, but Germany was tired of it. He had been doing all that he could to ensure their success in the war, and he would not let his effort be wasted by a single person. His ally, of all people. He would not stand for it.

Thus, another hand-grenade throwing session was born.

"Alright, Italy, for the _last _time," Germany had been saying, the words only slipping through his gritted teeth but still completely audible, "throwing hand grenades _properly _is a very _important _skill on the battlefield. So we're going to try _again _and we'll see if you can get it right this time. Okay?"

Everyone, even the people who weren't there, knew that Italy would, in fact, _not _get it right that time, but the Italian himself was still sparkling with enthusiasm. "Yes, sir!" he cried, gripping the said weapon firmly in his hand.

Germany decided to trust him for the time being. Maybe belief was all he needed. "Right. You may start. Oh, and remember: you throw the grenade – the bigger part of it. _Don't bite it," _he added quickly.

"Yes, sir! You can count on me, captain!"

"I certainly hope so," Germany muttered bitterly, but then held his head up high and looked competently at Italy. "On a count of three. One, two..."

He yelled three, and surprisingly, Italy bit off the pin and successfully detached the grenade from his hand. The man fell over, sure, but he had done it. Germany had never beamed at Italy so much in their lives together. He raised his Observation Diary, uncapped a pen, and began to take notes immediately, subconsciously waiting for the large _boom _that would resound far away. Italy's first successful hand grenade.

Italy could not share his joy, because unlike Germany, he had seen where the grenade landed. Germany was so distracted, writing on his log notebook, that he did not notice the tiny green death machine right beside his left foot. He could only stutter out an, "Uh...G-Germany?" before the _boom _came.

It was not as far as Germany expected it to be.

=o=

_A/N: Eghm. Hello, I'm back with another weird piece of literature (if you can call it that). If you've read another story of mine, 'Italy's Gone Wild', you'll notice that what just happened here in this story was kind of similar to what happened there, and that's really how it's supposed to be. I call it: 'Other Version of the Fanfiction'. Wherein Italy takes what had just happened more seriously than he did before. Yeah. _

_Oh, and I'm not sure if I'm the first one who had this sort of idea, so if it's unoriginal or something, I'm sorry. D: I just really want to get writing again. _

_So...enjoy, I guess? I hope? orz_


	2. Chapter One: Horrible

Chapter One: Horrible

Italy felt horrible. The fact that he was a useless weakling wasn't news to him – everyone always told him _that – _but he had no idea that it was at this level already. Germany, probably the only one who actually took the time to help him out whenever he was in the most ridiculous situation, was hospitalized and practically dead...because of _him. _Him and his failures. He shook his head, seated alone in the lobby of a hospital. The hospital _he had put Germany in. _

He knew it was unhealthy to keep reminding himself of what he had just done, but there was no stopping it: he had never been this upset in his life. Two days since the big fiasco with the hand grenade had passed, but not once had he stopped to look at Germany and what he looked like. He hadn't left the hospital since he came, yes, and sometimes he would direct certain countries who wanted to visit to Germany's room, but his eyes would always look away; he couldn't even crane his head in Germany's direction. It would be too painful to see his best friend full of wounds and unable to move, all because of something he had done.

_Stop it, _an inner voice told him. And he wanted to, he really did. But it wasn't going to be easy.

Just as he got ready for another set of depressing self-reflections, Japan came into the hallway. Like Italy, he had rushed to the hospital as soon as he could and had not left yet since then. He looked exhausted due to the fact that he had no sleep, and his movements seemed slower, Italy observed as Japan sat next to him. For a while, they sat in silence. Sometimes, Japan's mouth would open, and he would take a breath to say something, but no words came out. Nothing to be said, no comfort to be given.

"Just say it," Italy said, breaking the silence. "I'm useless, I'm an idiot...I'm a _useless idiot _and this is all my fault."

Japan blinked, startled. "Wha—? I wasn't about to say that at all," he said, looking worriedly at the nation beside him.

"But it's true!" cried Italy. "It's my fault Germany's in here, all injured and unconscious, and maybe even dying! If it wasn't for my...my..._stupidity, _then maybe— "

"That's enough, Italy-kun," Japan cut in, a bit sternly but still consolingly. "You shouldn't be too hard on yourself for this. You haven't killed Germany at all; it would take a lot more than a simple hand grenade to be able to do that. And it's not bad to make mistakes from time to time, it's a part of— "

"From time to time!" Italy repeated in protest. "Yes, it's a part of life, but I don't just make mistakes _from time to time. _I make mistakes _all the time! _Is _that _normal? Is that _excusable?" _

His constant emphasis of certain words made Japan cringe. Italy had never been this reactive about anything they had experienced before. Not only were there tears threatening to fall from his eyes – Italy had cried a lot before, Japan had seen it so many times – but there was something different about him. He looked...mad. And although there were times when it was possible for him to be in the condition, he had never been actually _furious, _and he was never mad at himself.

"Still, I don't think being this frustrated is going to do much about the incident. It's definitely not going to cure Germany," said Japan firmly, not wanting to lie but trying not to be too blunt with the Italian either. "If anything, it only seems to be getting you more upset than you already are. Your mistakes aren't the only parts of your life, Italy-kun. I haven't known you long enough to be able to tell this to you straight, but no one who has ever stepped foot on this earth has done nothing but wrong. You're not seeing yourself for who you are as whole right now. Don't just focus on your errors, because there's more to you than that."

The silence came back; Japan had no further arguments, and Italy was busy thinking. Maybe Japan was right. If his life had been full of nothing but wrongdoings, then why was he always so full of happiness? Slowly, the furious look on his face faded, but the guilt remained. Japan gave a small smile of relief to no one in particular. At least he had calmed down a bit.

It did not last long.

"YO, ITALY!"

The two seated nations flinched simultaneously as the extremely loud voice echoed throughout the halls of the hospital. Even without looking, they already knew who it was. After all, America was the only one without enough decency to keep quiet in a hospital. Some of the nurses and waiting patients threw him dirty looks, but he looked too ecstatic to care. Japan had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Hey, Italy!" he repeated, a little softer this time now that he was right in front of the addressee. "I was wondering why you and Germany weren't on the battlefield yesterday. I just heard from England. Pretty harsh stuff, huh? I mean, when I first heard it I was like..."

The rant seemed to go on forever, and after each sentence, Japan's eyes seemed to be crying out more desperately than they already were a few seconds ago for America to just _shut up _for once in his life. The message was not sent. The bad feeling in his gut told Japan to look to Italy, and after a moment's hesitation, he gave in. The nation he had just calmed was now looking up at America with the most tear-jerking expression he had ever seen. He hadn't been crying earlier, but now it seemed inevitable. America didn't even stop when Italy's lip began to tremble. He didn't even so much as pause when a single tear rolled down Italy's pale cheek.

"...seriously, that was a really huge favor you did us, and I knew you were a goofball, and really hard to take care of, but man! We really owe you, 'coz..."

Italy had enough. He had that furious look on his face again as he stood up, but he did not throw a punch at America or yell at him to keep his sentiments to himself. In fact, he didn't talk at all. He only stood calmly, gave America a look Japan couldn't quite describe, and hurried away without a sound.

Only then did America's incessant babbling come to a halt. He pointed at Italy and raised an incredibly dense eyebrow. "Uh, is he doing okay?" he asked Japan.

Japan bit his lip, stood, and said, "I'll see what I can do about him," before following Italy's footsteps. A typical Japanese answer.

But everyone knew it meant no.

====o====

_"You actually went and said those things to him?"_

Days after the incident in the hospital, America made his way back to the headquarters for a progress report. He didn't see anything wrong with thanking Italy for the favor he had done the Allied Forces, but his so-called 'ally' didn't seem very happy about it. Not at all.

"Yeah, I did," America said, sitting lazily on a stool, elbow propped on the rectangular conference table. "What are you looking so troubled for? You were saying all that stuff to me when you first heard about it. Weren't you the one who said I should thank people properly when they do something good for me?"

England scowled at America and shook his head. How dense could someone be? "America, this is war, in case you haven't noticed. If I'd tell you a certain strategy we're going to use, would you just go off and tell others – _the enemy – _everything I just said?" he demanded, and then began to pace. "Plus: there really was no need to rub it into the boy's face. After all, Germany was probably his best friend. Imagine how the poor boy must be feeling right now..."

America raised an eyebrow. "How he's 'feeling'?" he repeated. "Gee, England, I didn't know you had a heart."

"If I didn't have a heart, you'd be floating in the gutter right now, idiot," England blurted out, but shut himself up immediately. He did not want to let on that he still had hidden bitterness for what he liked to call 'that event between him and America'. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, you really shouldn't go about crushing his spirits, because you never know what could happen. For all we know, it could trigger him to do something rash."

"What rash thing could Italy do?" America questioned, still as casually as he had been doing the whole duration of the meeting. Maybe he hadn't heard what England had said – or maybe he was just really good at ignoring it. Or maybe he didn't care. A lump formed in England's throat at the thought, but well, _whatever. _It didn't matter.

"I don't know, but like I said, we may never know. This is the time of war right now, so what's most important is that we don't go giving Italy any more reasons to be hostile against us. He's the only sort of 'easy part' of the Axis Powers, after all, since Japan and Germany aren't to be messed with. But now that Germany's temporarily out of the picture, that only leaves Japan to deal with. That should be easy enough, as long as we ensure that Italy remains the useless retreater he's always bee— eeearrrgghhh..."

"What the—?" America cried right after England had made a weird facial expression and nearly toppled over, possibly from his buckling knees. If he hadn't held on to a conference chair, he would have fallen face-first on the wooden floor. "England, what the hell was that? Are you drunk or something?"

But England was perfectly sober. In fact, he was more aware of what was occurring in his surroundings than America. Raising a slightly trembling hand, England pointed somewhere behind America. America turned around, and nearly fell over himself.

Italy was sitting on the couch next to the door, a plain look on his face. He looked settled and comfortable, which meant he had been there for a long time already. He did not speak, and did not give any signs of wanting to interrupt the conversation. He was merely there to observe.

"I—Italy!" England cried. "What are you doing here?"

"Germany's not around to give me orders," Italy said, "but if he were, I bet he'd tell me to spy on you, so here I am."

Not even America, the hero, could say anything after that, so Italy got up. If they all just stood there, staring at each other, no other information would be passed, and Germany would get mad at him for wasting time. "That was a really huge favor you just did me," Italy said quietly, looking at America. "I owe you one." And then he left.

The two Westerners were left in the room, dumbfounded. They had no idea that jolly little Italy would be capable of being so serious, let alone capable of giving someone a taste of his own medicine. America could feel the weight of the words that were thrown right back at him, and although he knew it was bound to happen someday, he did not expect it from the Italian. The Italian was the last person anyone would have expected.

America whistled. "He may be useless, but he's become a better spy, I'll give him that."

England slapped his forehead.

=o=

_A/N: Birthday update! _

_Hello again! Thanks for reading the first chapter of the story. Sorry it's kind of short...I've been doing my best to make it a bit more lengthy and to have more content, but so far, it's not going so well. Argh, it's just the first chapter anyway, so hopefully I'll do better as the story progresses._

_I hope you read on! _


	3. Chapter Two: Silly Little Nations

Chapter Two: Silly Little Nations

_A/N: Some replies to reviews because I think I owe some people._

Jellybess and Anna Whitlinger: I hope that last chapter answered your questions. ^^;

Hero of the Mind and LilDeadKitty: It's certainly heading in that direction...the question is: will I be able to pull it off? orz

Sloth Tolos and Neppi-chan: Thanks for the support and patient waiting!

_=o=_

_"Don't think too much about what America said. He's just being clueless as always."_

_ "..."_

_ "I hope you're still reflecting on what I said earlier. It's important that you remember, no matter what happens, or no matter what anyone says. Okay?"_

_ "..."_

_ "Italy-kun, I don't want to have to give you this talk again, but I guess I have to, given the situation. Now listen, you have to remember that despite all the things America said—"_

_ "Japan, it's okay. You don't have to say it again."_

_ "—oh. So you're okay now?"_

_ "Honestly, not really, but I'll get through it somehow. I'm going to...look at my war history or something, just for entertainment, and maybe some reassurance. Will it be alright if I left you with Germany for today?"_

_ "Of course. Go and rest; you certainly need it."_

_ "...hey, Japan?"_

_ "Yes?"_

_ "If Germany was here right now, what would he be telling me to do besides training?"_

_ "Err...well, maybe he'd have you ready some more supplies, or...spy on the Allies, or something like that."_

_ "Vee~ that's true. You know him so well. Okay, I'll be on my way now; thanks, Japan!"_

_ "Have a safe trip, Italy-kun."_

_====o====_

Italy frowned. He had said those things to Japan, but for some reason, he felt like it couldn't be done. Now that Germany wasn't around to cater to his every whim, he felt as though he had no place in the world. Only now did he realize all the things he had...well, _not _done. The thought scared him.

He also told Japan that he would look at his war history for reassurance, but when he arrived in his library hours later, he felt the urge to pick up anything – _anything – _but that book. That book filled with nothing but records of him doing absolutely nothing productive, nothing helpful. That book filled with all his shenanigans. Compared to staring at all of that by himself in a cold, cold library, spying on the Allies was a much easier thing to do.

And to think he was so deathly afraid of the Allies before. Not that he wasn't afraid of them anymore. They just seemed…less of a threat somehow? Even Italy couldn't quite name it. All he knew was that he didn't quake in fear at the thought of being two feet away from them at the moment. There were much heavier things.

"Eghm."

_"YAH!" _Italy cried, jumping in surprise and then feeling tough concrete against his back. He had fallen backward on the porch of his house. Trying to wipe away the startled tears that were forming in his eyes, he sat up and faced whoever cleared their throat.

It was England. And for the second time during the second world war, he wasn't looking at Italy with a plot to kill him.

He cleared his throat again. "Eghm…h-hello, there, Italy," England tried to greet casually, but it sounded too unnatural. He awkwardly gestured to the empty space beside Italy on the front porch. "May I, er, have this seat?"

Now Italy, who was just gaping at the Brit against his will, blinked a few times and looked around frantically before finally managing a nod. With a sigh, England sat beside him, but he looked as though he was hoping Italy would just say no.

"So…" England began. "Er, Amer-America and I noticed…that you seemed…well, different lately…n-not that it should be any of our concern, but…er, I can't help but feel…somewhat…responsible. O-only because of what America did the other day!"

Italy had been told that England was quite a 'tsundere' character (Japan had rather interesting terms), but never had he seen it action until that very moment. He didn't know whether to find it refreshing or very, very awkward. He continued to stare, and the British man continued to talk.

"I-I mean…" England knew what he wanted to say, but found it hard to put them into words, especially in front of a supposed enemy he wasn't allowed to have apathy for. "America said some inappropriate things to you because of some things that _I _said to _him, _and since we all know he's too much of a blockhead to apologize…" He'd finally gotten to it. "Er…I'm…sincerely sorry for America's actions— or words…or…both. I know we're at war and everything, but it seems to have escalated to a personal level, and that is just unnecessary. So…"

Only partially satisfied with the way he delivered his piece, England looked away from Italy and silently cursed at himself for sounding like such an idiot. To Italy, however, the delivery did not matter, because here in front of him was actually someone who cared - maybe not all the time, but at least for the time being. He gave a small smile. "Thank you, England."

England wasn't done shouting abuse in his head, but Italy's sentiments caused him to stop for a while. He blinked furiously and turned to the Italian he had been ambushing for the past few weeks. "Wha…thank you for what?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Your apology means a lot," said Italy, shrugging. "Actually…I never expected one to come from you. You're usually so scary, with your tough armies, and your weapons, and your horrible cooking…"

Was it Italy's turn to say inappropriate things now? England supposed it was karma. India always told him about it before.

"…but now you're not scary at all. In fact, you seem like a…friend. It feels nice to have someone to talk to when you're down. See, this is what happened…"

_What is he doing? _England thought to himself, looking at Italy as though he had something repulsive in his hands. Was he…opening up or something? Whatever it was, England was sure he did not want to hear it.

"When I accidentally threw the grenade at Germany, I felt really bad. For some reason, my lack of accomplishment only seemed to sink in at that time, and then America came along and said those things, so I felt really bad about myself…"

No, England definitely did _not _want to hear this.

"…and left the hospital. I told Japan that I would look at my war history, but when I tried, it just seemed too hard. The prospect of reading a book filled with all my failures and shenanigans was scary," Italy finished, a troubled look on his face. "But if I don't…then how will I know what I need to improve on so I can be more of a help to Germany? I don't know what I should do…"

Bloody hell, he heard it. And even worse, England felt obligated to help. He had no time to help! This was one of the biggest advantages they had ever had, and he was spending his time comforting his enemy. If his allies had heard what he was doing, they would bomb his streets. He made up his mind; he was going to stand and bid Italy good luck and goodbye.

But still, it seemed wrong to just leave him there. After all, he went through all this trouble to express his apathy…

No, no. He was standing, he was leaving, and he was never going to stand within fifty feet of Italy again. He was going to get up and go. He was going to. He was going to.

…he couldn't.

"I-Italy?" England called, unsure of himself and what the hell he was doing. "H-how about I take a look at your war history?"

_====o====_

He was taking a look at it. It was right in front of him. Right in his face. The bright green eyes under the thick eyebrows had been surveying the page for five minutes. But his brain – his highly intellectual brain – could not comprehend its contents. A war history...one of the most crucial books in a country's lifetime...was filled with a silly little Italian surrounded by girls in every picture, a _different _batch of girls in every picture, and England was certainly at a loss of what to feel.

The silly little Italian himself was seated across him on the library desk, covering his eyes as though there was a horror movie climax in front of him. Once England had grown quiet (or even quieter than he was earlier), Italy created a small hole between his middle finger and ring finger like a child to peek at him. "W-well?" he asked.

"Eghm." England cleared his throat for what seemed like the millionth time that hour. "Well...it's definitely..." He made a face. "...historical." _In a totally unprecedented way, _he wanted to add, but could not find the courage to.

Italy banged his head on the table and groaned. "I knew it. I've been doing nothing but nonsense!"

England had no comments. Don't get him wrong, he didn't like watching the boy feel bad about himself, but he simply could not lie and tell him, _"No, no! You've been doing an absolutely great job these past few decades! I mean, look at all these ladies. It's impressive how you have won them over. You know, not even _I_ can land a conversation, let alone a picture with so many— _he cut the sentence short. He wanted to stop Italy from whining, not make himself look unappealing by comparison.

No, he couldn't say those things. But what else was there to say?

Before he knew it, his hand was on Italy's shoulder. "Well, if there's any other way I can help, Italy, don't hesitate to ask—" he blurted out. Only too late did he realize the gravity of what he had just offered. Hastily, he slipped his hands off of Italy's shoulder, hoping the nation had cried himself to sleep just like before.

Much to England's frustration, he was wide awake. Italy did not lift his head off the table; he simply moved it so that he could look at England, his face squished on the table. "Would you know any way to help me not be such a weakling?" he asked sadly, probably anticipating the big fat no he would get.

"There's always a way to improve yourself," England found himself saying, "but there's really nothing you can do about the past. That's what you're all glum about, right?" _Hell, why am I so bent on comforting him? _

"Vee..." was all Italy could say, before a sudden bolt of inspiration hit him square in the chest. Of course, nothing _really _hit him in the chest, but there was a force that made him sit upright with wide eyes. "The past. I can fix my mistakes by going back to the past! A time machine!"

England raised an eyebrow. "Now that's purely science-fiction. Italy, in case you haven't noticed, no country is progressive enough to be able to build a time machine. If there were, this war would have been long since over. Now if they had magic, like me, maybe it would be possible—"

"Magic?" Italy repeated, and England felt his brain crash and his heart rip itself apart. _Why couldn't he shut up? _"You have magic, England?"

"Well..."

"That's great!" cried Italy. "Using your magic, we could find a way to turn back time so that I can—"

"Whoa, whoa, hang on," England interrupted. "When did I ever say I'll take part in this?"

Italy looked at him, puzzled. "Wasn't it just a while ago when you said you wanted to help me, and that I shouldn't hesitate to ask?"

_Bollocks. _Trapped. It was England's turn to bang his head on the table in shame.

"Fine," England said, surrendering his pride to whatever universal entity it should be surrendered to. "Fine. I'll find a way to turn back time, _on one condition," _he stressed before Italy's eyes could sparkle too much. "You aren't going to tamper with anything. You're simply going to watch—"

"But what will that do—?"

"—And hopefully, _learn _from your mistakes. Do you understand?" finished England.

That wasn't very fair, Italy thought. But then again, he was the one asking for the favor. And England was supposed to be his enemy, for pasta's sake! He couldn't afford to be choosy. Instead, he gave England the most genuine smile he could give a threat in his life. "Yes."

The Briton wasn't convinced. "Do you _swear?"_

"...I swear."

_=o=_

_A/N again: I'm so, so sorry for updating so late. It's been three months, hasn't it? As you've probably expected, school has been a hassle, and I'm currently on the floor, desperately flailing around for some free time. Anyway, I just wanted to put up an update before exam week completely buries me once again. HURRR, the life of a writing student._

_I hope you enjoyed reading (if you did) and once again, I'm terribly sorry!_


	4. Chapter Three: The Countdown Begins

Chapter Three: The Countdown Begins

_His house was so peaceful then. There was fresh air blowing, making the neatly-trimmed blades of grass and the colorful flowers in his backyard sway to the side. Birds with beautiful singing voices frequently stopped by a bird bath in the center of the place, making only the slightest noises as they pecked at the clear water laid out for them. That was the life. There was no better way to be living at that time, he was thinking._

_ But then he heard gunshots, and only one thought popped into his mind._

_ "America!"_

_ From the balcony, he ran inside the house, down the stairs, into corridors – simply put, every where in his large house, just to find that innocent boy he'd deemed his 'little brother', and had even attempted to call him 'older brother' once. Because aside from struggling to run his country while maintaining that peaceful and windy atmosphere, America was also_ _his life – and if anything..._anything _happened to him, England's world would probably end._

_ He wasn't about to tell him all that, though. In fact, the little nation was perfectly fine...or at least not injured. He was on his butt in the middle of England's garden, a large gun in front of him. He looked very shaken._

_ "America, there you are!" England crouched beside him. "What happened?"_

_ America sniffed. "N-nothing."_

_ England raised his eyebrow. "It can't be nothing if you're on the ground sniffling like that." He looked to the gun. "Where did you find that?"_

_ "I-in your storage closet," America admitted, wiping his nose. "I've been trying to figure out how to use it for a long time now, but I just can't get it right! The noise always shocks me and I fall flat on my butt after trying. Is this how it's going to be all the time, England?"_

_ "Of course not. You can't expect yourself to get the hang of it the first few times around, America."_

_ "But then when will I ever get it right?"_

_ "...all you need is patience and loads of hard work. You can never really do anything right until you've really put a lot of effort into doing it. Don't feel bad; everyone goes through this. Some people can't even read or write, let alone use a gun. And look at you: you're so young! You'll be great at this someday, I tell you. So don't feel bad, alright?"_

_ And then America smiled. "Okay, I believe you. But you'd better help me with this thing!"_

_ "Of course I'll help you."_

=o=o=o=o=o=

"England? Hey, England? Are you ready to help me yet?"

England blinked and looked around. For a moment there, he thought he really was at home with a miniature _and more appreciative _America on his butt with a gun, but he wasn't. He was in yet another idiot's house, but more importantly: an enemy's house. And he was holding a spell book – something he never thought he'd need for a long time – trying to figure out a way to turn back time for said enemy.

What was he doing with his life?

"Err, I suppose," he replied shakily, scratching on his head. "But I haven't found the spell yet, so you'd better sit down. It might take a while."

"Don't worry!" said Italy, still enthusiastic for all the wrong reasons. "I'll wait. I'll wait a really long time!"

Shuddering at how alike young America and current Italy were, England buried himself in the contents of the book. He nearly smiled at the old spells and incantations he remembered reading (some were even encircled), but the weight of what he was looking for prevented any happy and nostalgic gesture. He had never tried any sort of time-traveling spell before, and was not sure how difficult it would be, and what the complications were.

As he pondered on these, Italy sat behind him, trying his best to wait patiently as the so-called 'wizard' leafed through a single book at snail's pace when there were a few dozen more to go. He told England that he'd wait a really long time, but it was easier said than done. Sitting around waiting for a spell to be found was not fixing any of his mistakes; rather, it seemed to be creating some new ones.

Italy stood again. "How about I help you look for it in some of these books?"

"What?" England looked at him. "Italy, do you even know what I'm looking for?"

"How hard can it be? All I have to do is look and see if it has the word 'time' in it, and then I can just lean over and ask for your approval, right?"

He really is getting impatient, thought England as he stared at the stubborn-looking Ame— or rather, Italy. "Fine. Just pick up a book, see if it has the words 'time' or 'time travel' then show me. I'll judge whether or not that's the spell. And make sure that it doesn't just _contain _the words, but makes a reasonable sentence related to what we're looking for, alright?" he added quickly. "I don't want to see an 'It's time to travel' or anything idiotic like that."

"Roger, captain!" yelled Italy, then picked up a book, and began to thoroughly scan in it.

Shaking his head at Amer— Italy, England went back to his own spell book. He had already reached the two hundredth page. Still no Time Traveling.

Hours passed. England had already skimmed through six four hundred page books, and Italy had looked through eight, but there was no time traveling spell in any of the fourteen. There were still three to go before England could be set free of his ridiculous promises.

He yawned and stretched. "I think we should call it a day, Italy. My eyes are just exhausted."

"Yeah, mine too..." Italy rubbed his own eyes. "Fourteen books, and none of them had a time traveling spell! Well, there's still three more to go. If I'm lucky, it's in one of those." He looked hopefully at the remaining stack.

'And if I'm lucky, it doesn't exist, and this whole thing will be over', England got the urge to say, but held his tongue. It had been betraying him the whole day today, and he didn't need it spouting any more unnecessary comments. The only thing left to do was hope and pray that the spell would not be in those three books when they looked at it the next day.

Italy picked the stack up. "I'll take these home if that's alright with you, England. I'd like to have a look at them before I sleep."

"What?" England said. "Aren't you working a little too hard, Italy? We can always look at them tomorrow. There are only three left, after all."

"Exactly," said Italy, smiling sadly. "I know I said that I'd wait a long time, but I don't think I can wait a whole twenty-four hours for three books."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive!"

England sighed and shook his head what was probably the millionth time that day. Ameri— DAMN IT, _Italy _was definitely persistent. Why did he find it so difficult to stand against him? In all the years they'd known each other, he had never been that weak towards him. Not even when he fell into that wretched hole in their front yard and ended up in their jail cell. He groaned. "Do what you want; I'm going home now," England said, walking away.

"Vee~ bye, England!" Italy called from behind. "Thanks for dropping by. See you tomorrow!"

Cringing, England considered the possible consequences if he _didn't _come back the next day. Maybe he'd try it and Italy would hate him and things would go back to the way they were supposed to be in a World War.

No, he definitely wasn't going back to Ameri—

Damn it.

=o=o=o=o=o=

All England could do that night, although he was already perfectly comfortable back in his own bed in his own house with no Italian breathing down his neck, was contemplate on why he kept mistaking Italy for America. Sure, Italy was _sort of _similar to him, especially back when he wasn't independent yet...how he kept failing with the gun and asked for help...how impatient he was...and how he never wanted England to leave...

He slapped himself. They were dead alike.

But even so, why did it matter? He accepted the fact that America was no longer his to keep centuries ago! He'd been getting along fine since then, and they'd even fought a world war together and ended up victorious (or as victorious as one could possibly get). What made this time different?

England turned over in his bed, trying to get even just a wink of sleep, but the universe simply would not let him. Other than his anxiety preventing any ounce of rest, his bloody phone just had to ring. He had half the mind not to pick it up, but...well, it wasn't like he was doing anything of particular importance. But if it was that idiot France stirring up some weird conversation, he was going to—

"Vee!"

His mental threat was cut short. "Italy?" England asked, shocked. "What— why are you calling at this hour?"

"I'm sorry; I know it's late! I just couldn't contain my excitement! I was looking through the three remaining books, like I said I would, and when I flipped open the last one—"

No, thought England. Please, please, _please _say that you're excited because you suddenly realized that it's okay to have flaws and that you've moved on through the help of that last spell book. Or better yet, please tell me that our whole lives have been one big nightmare, and that we're all going to wake up happy and sane. Please say that.

"—I found the spell to go back in time!"

What the _– bloody –_ hell.

=o=o=o=o=o=

The next morning, the two were back in Italy's library, examining the spell book – _the last one in the bloody stack – _that contained the _bloody spell _that he would perform to go back in time, all for _dumb little Italy. _(Well, at least it wasn't America anymore.) England sat groggily beside the Italian, his eyes heavy and his patience wavering due to sleep deprivation and extreme irritation. He hadn't blinked in a while, and Italy was beginning to think something was wrong with him.

Only beginning.

"E-England?" He waved his hand in front of the Brit's green eyes. "Are you okay?"

No reply.

"England?"

Still no reply.

"Do you need to eat or something?"

England's head, arms, and soul fell onto the library table with a bang that echoed throughout the entire room. He had sacrificed his entire day yesterday along with several hours of sleep, returned home lugging fourteen thick books all by himself, and practically sold the utilization of his magic to this..._this..._no, not American...Italian!...and he was still the most annoying thing that could ever be beside England on one of his off-days. American? Italian? It didn't matter anymore. They were exactly the same!

"Sleep..." England muttered, the table now as soft as last night's pillow.

"What, England?"

"Sleep. I need _sleep, _you stu..." He stopped himself before his tongue betrayed him again.

"Stew?" Italy repeated. "I'm stew?"

"You know what?" England stood, and rubbed his eyes. "Screw sleep and rest and every privilege someone is entitled to. Let's get this over with. Where's the book?"

Italy watched as a seemingly-drunk England snatched the book up and examined it through bloodshot eyes. Not that there was anything particularly horrible about getting called a stew, but there was no obviously something wrong with England. He claimed to need sleep, then took it back, and was now squinting furiously at the spell book, trying to read its contents. _Maybe I _shouldn't _have called last night...?_

It was too late to regret his actions. Looking accomplished and bit more sober than he did earlier, England set the book down and took out a piece of chalk from his pocket. "Simple enough," he said, readying the chalk. "Italy, is there any place in the house where I can draw on the floor with no fear of it being tampered with?"

"Well, the housekeepers are pretty insistent on keeping the house clean, but I bet they wouldn't mind if we did it in the basement! No one really goes there any more, since it's basically just a storage room for my old things that I don't use anymore."

Now what did that remind him of? England shook it off before it could sink in and followed Italy to the said basement.

That was fourteen minutes before Time Traveling.

* * *

_A/N: OOOHKAY; hello again, everyone. Like last time, I apologize for allowing my update times to reach three months and I hope it doesn't become a regular thing. This was supposed to be a double update [[ you know, like, two chapters in one update ]] but in the end, I couldn't make it. I'll post the next one really, really soon before I am once again swallowed by a busy schedule._

_Also, I'm sorry if it seems sloppy and uneventful. OTL  
_

_I WILL WORK HARDER. /gameface _


	5. Chapter Four: Three and a Half Memories

Chapter Four: Three and a Half Memories

Twelve minutes before Time Traveling, the two nations were already in Italy's surprisingly welcoming basement filled with art works and cleaning utensils and a very alarming supply of white flags. Italy had just finished clearing a space in the room for England to draw on.

As Italy did this, England studied the book a bit more, rolling the piece of chalk in between two fingers. The concept of the spell, in relation to the circle he was about to draw (clearly illustrated in the book, bordered by a square), was pretty reasonable, and on top of that, easy to understand despite his eyes being a little blurry from lack of sleep. He'd draw the circle, go back in time with Italy, maybe even give him a little more pep talk if he's not satisfied, and then they'd go back and resume their warring, as should have been done the moment Germany stepped foot into the hospital.

"Whenever you're ready, England," Italy said, wiping some sweat off his face from heaving large crates filled with the old cans of paint he collected.

"I'd like to say the same to you," said England, eyeing Italy seriously. "Are you sure you want to go through this?" Of course, up until the last minute he would still have Italy reconsider scrapping the whole thing. He was the mighty England! He would always try his best to get his way.

But Italy was a bit more stubborn than that. "I'm sure," he said.

Well, all hope of freedom was lost, and England had no choice but to comply with the Italian's wishes. After all, he'd already made those sacrifices for the cause. Fine. It was all going to be...fine.

He hoped.

"I'll start drawing then," England said, approaching the moderately-large space Italy had cleared for him. His gaze was on the book, then on his space, then back again, repeatedly. "Start by drawing one large circle..." He did. "...followed by four smaller circles..." He did, two on top and two below, intersecting some parts of the large circle. Italy watched as he silently drew the other parts with great concentration; as he drew lines that seemed to separate the four circles, as he filled the smaller circles with even smaller circles and shaded them white, as he stood and sighed, and asked for four candles.

That was nine minutes before Time Traveling.

He thanked Italy as he placed one candle on top of each shaded circle. "The lines act as a border between the four circles to make sure that the time periods remain separate. The five circles represent five dimensions...and I'm pretty sure that one of those things will keep you from screwing anything up in that period- oh, why am I even telling you this?" England shut the book and practically threw it on the table. "I'll just give you the instructions. This is very high level magic, so you can expect that it has a limit. You are only allowed to visit four periods in time, and in order to do that, you'll need a part of an item that was used during that time...so I guess it's obvious that you can't go back to any time that you or anyone around you did not experience. You will only get to stay in that particular period of time until its corresponding candle goes out. When that happens, you'll be automatically brought to the next time period, and will be brought to the next once that candle goes out. When the last candle goes out, you will be brought back here. If you want to go back in time again, you'll have to redo the whole thing as to not alter anything in the time periods you visited. Is that clear?"

"Oh, er...yes!" said Italy, nodding competently. "Though I'm not exactly sure which periods of time I really want to go back to..."

"You'll have to figure it out. Since you're going back in time to figure out how to improve yourself, you may want to go back to the times you feel like you did something wrong. And how convenient - we're in your storage room. Why don't you go look for some of your...mementos or whatever, and decide what times you want to go back to?" England suggested, then sat down on the floor and closed his eyes. He waved a hand. "Go on, take your time. I'll be here."

The last sound he heard was Italy looking inside one of his crates. England had finally fallen into his craved-for and well-deserved sleep.

That was six minutes before Time Traveling.

=====o=====

_Draw a circle there is earth..._

_ Draw a circle there is earth..._

_ Draw a circle there is earth..._

_ I am..._

_ I am...?_

"England?"

The Brit awoke. He didn't even realize that he had fallen asleep, even if it was only for - England checked his watch - five minutes. Italy was in front of him, holding four different artifacts in his hands: a white hat, probably from his childhood considering its size, a rope, a handkerchief, and a white flag, though who could figure out when and where he used it, when he seemed to have one with him all the time? Seeing as Italy was ready, England stood. "Alright, I'll light the candles. Just rip off a part of those items and throw them into the four fires."

"Right!" Italy nodded, and proceeded to follow England's instructions.

England then lit the candles and watched as Italy threw fragments of his history into the tiny flames. As Italy placed one fragment after another, the circle began to glow. This led England to smile. Yes, he was engaging in a completely insane activity with someone he had no right to be cooperating with, and he was extremely frustrated at himself for that, but at least his magic still worked properly.

"Done?" asked England. "Now just stand in front of the circle - just opposite me. Yes, there, and just focus on the idea of time traveling while I recite the incantation for the spell."

This was it. This was _finally _it. After years and years of making fatal mistakes and having other people suffer because of it, there was finally going to be a cure. Italy thought this as he emptied his mind of all other concerns and filled it with thoughts of seeing his past self in his past experiences. As he did this, England examined the book closely once again for the incantation. This part was crucial; one wrong word and the both of them could be incinerated or completely wiped from the map.

Both England and Italy had their eyes closed at this point - England memorizing the words from the book and Italy thinking deeply of time traveling. After a few more moments of silence, Italy once again heard England's voice. He opened his eyes and saw the man holding his hands over the circle, and distinctly heard him utter words such as 'Gandalf' and 'Hermione', which he supposed was part of the incantation he had mentioned. He drove the strange words away from his head and focused on time traveling once more.

Suddenly, there was a blinding green light erupting from the circle. At once, Italy's supposed concentration wavered, and his eyes shot open as they were surrounded by what seemed to be gray swirls of wind. Neither he nor England could see anything besides that. There was a harsh wind blowing, and they had to struggle to keep themselves standing.

_"Is this part of the magic?" _Italy yelled, but the sound of his voice could not beat the loud whirring in their ears. The swirls of wind were getting closer and faster…closing in on him…he couldn't see or hear or feel anything…

Unable to take it, Italy covered his ears and dropped to the floor.

=====o=====

_Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ …I am Little Italy!_

Italy was awoken by a familiar smell in the air. It smelled of…cheap, yet elegant perfume, and…and gardens! He sat up and found England sitting next to him, probably newly-awoken as well, surveying the environment rather calmly.

"Hm…this place seems familiar to me, but we're going to have to find some real evidence that we're in the past if we're going to confirm if the magic worked or not. For all we know, we could have just teleported somewhere else," England said, standing. "Come, Italy. Do you recognize this place?"

The walls and floors were a shiny brand of white, and the house was filled with paintings of royalty. They seemed to have landed in someone's living room. There were well-tended plants situated on tables, in the corners, and hanging on the ceiling, though not too many, and to their left, right next to a majestic window, was a grand piano.

"I do!" Italy cried happily. "This is Austria's house."

"Is it?" England looked around. He had been to Austria's house a couple of times (he specifically remembered trying to choke France in a particular corner of the living room), but not enough for its appearance to really sink into his brain. "Well, whatever you say. But what on earth would we be doing in Austria's house?"

"I used to stay here as a child," said Italy, nostalgia overwhelming him.

As he said this, he heard a noise from outside. A group of people - a large one, at that - seemed to be yelling. Whether positively or negatively, neither England nor Italy knew, but one thing was clear: they had to look into it.

Without words, Italy stealthily crept to Austria's front door and slipped out of it, England following close behind. In front of Austria's large house was what seemed like an army wearing a uniform he was very familiar with, cheering and wiping sweat and blood from their foreheads. A very small number of men were choking back tears.

"Looks like a war's just finished," England observed. In all his years of experience, what with the thirty-year and hundred-year wars he had participated in, he knew what that looked, felt, and smelled like. Maybe even what it tasted like, but he didn't want to remember that aspect.

The crowd seemed to part, creating a nice little aisle in between the rows of relieved soldiers. Walking down that aisle was a man in a similar, though slightly-altered, uniform, holding a tiny child by the back of its garment. The man adjusted his glasses proudly as the soldiers yelled out cheers, referring to him as Mr. Austria.

"Austria," Italy repeated after them. He pointed to the child. "Then that must be..."

Indeed, it was. Going past the white dress-like cloth and puffy hat, a tiny Italy with a very eminent curl sticking on the side of his head was, in fact, in Austria's dirt-filled grasp. He looked as though he'd been crying for some time, but there was no surprise in that. He and Austria were headed toward the front door of the house, obviously about to enter it, and England nearly warned the current Italy to hide before remembering that the spell kept them in a safe barrier with absolutely zero percent interaction with the past world. They followed the past beings back into the house.

"I apologize for being nosy, but what exactly is going on here, Italy?" England asked.

"I remember…" Italy said, although he did not seem to be talking to England at all. "Before this, Spain was telling me to enjoy my life before it's too late. Not long after, Austria won the war and I was brought to live here and serve him."

England nodded, watching as Austria briefed his new underling about the house rules and as he flatly rejected the little one's plea for pasta. "So even as a kid, you were used to these kinds of things," he noted, but caught himself. He didn't want another 'Italy Drama' just because of his side remarks. Thankfully, Italy did not seem to hear. He was busy sympathizing with his younger self. "So…is this helping you in any way?"

There was no reply, but after a few more minutes of awkward silence, Italy hummed. "Well, now that I think about it, my stay at Austria's house wasn't that bad. Aside from the bad food and tense atmosphere, things were great. I got to meet Hungary and Holy Rome, and had lots of fun in the lake, too."

Internally snickering at the fact that Austria had bad food too- no, wait, why 'too'? His food wasn't bad. It was unique and special!

…That aside, England nodded and gave Italy an encouraging pat, hopeful that his days of moping were coming to an end. "That's right. Our past experiences weren't always pleasant, but sometimes, these serve as doorways to experiences that are. An excellent realization, Italy! Shall we move on?"

With one last look at his little self, who was now tasked to mop the floors of all dirt that had come from the war, Italy nodded. He stuck close to England as the Brit blew at nothing in particular (probably some sort of process in the spell again). The two were promptly swallowed by swirls of wind once more.

=====o=====

_Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ …I have relatives in your country!_

There was a light wind whipping Italy's face when he woke up in the second memory. Feeling cold yet cozy, he opened his eyes and was immediately greeted by the starry night sky, directly above him. They must have been outdoors. Too lazy to sit up, he rolled to his side. England was already up and about, examining the area.

"Oh," he said suddenly, then turned to Italy. "I think I remember this."

"You do?" Italy asked him, finally getting up. It took a while for it to register that they were on some sort of beach. But not just any beach; they were on the deserted island where he, Germany, and Japan had gotten stranded in just months ago! And if that was the case, then their past selves would be having marshmallows somewhere, and in a few moments, the Allies would attack. "Ooh! I remember now too."

England began to walk. "We shouldn't waste any time. We need to find our past selves and watch them before the candle goes out. If my memory serves me right, you should be roasting marshmallows near the shore."

They didn't need to walk far. It turned out that they were just a few feet away from the stranded Axis camp, where Japan, Germany, and Italy _were _roasting marshmallows in the silence. As present Italy and England approached, they heard a high-pitched laugh.

As expected, the Allies had arrived, America proudly standing in the center. England didn't need to look at the top of the mountain to know it was him. He was standing beside America there, after all. Instead, he looked at himself, at how charismatic and poised he looked compared to the rest of the men he was with. Suddenly, he found himself smiling. _How did such a handsome and well-mannered fellow get himself into this mess? Enjoy your life while you can, past self! Even though it _is _virtually impossible._

"I choose you, China!" America yelled, and China immediately leapt down to the bottom of the mountain - how he managed it and lived, England had no clue - clutching a wok, and started swinging at Japan and Germany. Surprisingly, though the two had swords and guns, they were defeated quickly. Accomplished, he turned to Italy, who then proceeded to cry and beg for mercy.

As this took place, England remembered why he was here in the first place: not to marvel at his good-looking self, but to boost Italy's self-esteem. He turned his attention to the Italian and found that his self-esteem was far from boosted; he seemed to be watching sadly as his pathetic past-self waved a white flag at China. England couldn't blame him. A good soldier would have fought gallantly till the end after seeing that both his comrades fell trying.

Then a light breeze blew, and England remembered something.

"H-hey, Italy," he called. "Right after this happened, something…appeared, right? Something appeared and started singing, right?"

Italy suddenly remembered as well, but before he could confirm it, Grandpa Rome was standing before them, huge and glowing. He began to sing about what it was like in heaven and hell.

"There it is," England said, backing away. "What the hell is that? Some sort of hologram you projected from a hidden location to scare us off?" If that was the case, it had worked. The Allies retreated once the song number had ended.

"Hm? We didn't project anything!" Italy protested. "That was my grandpa, Rome. I don't really know how he ended up there, but he really saved me that time. Oh." He blinked, then frowned. "I guess he probably came down to save me in the first place. I really am so useless…even my dead grandfather has to come back to earth to save me…"

As England argued with himself on whether or not that really was the great Rome, Italy sat down on the sand and started tracing a circle on it with his finger. Past Germany and past Japan were now getting themselves together, and past Italy was still smiling at his grandpa's sudden appearance. Germany had yelled at him about surrendering so easily. He deserved it, but it did not help. Not one bit.

Neither he nor England had the chance to speak before they were engulfed by the wind again, ready to be taken to yet another depressing time period.

=====o=====

_Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ Draw a circle, there is earth…_

…_I just captured Italy!_

When England came to, he was in front of himself, dragging a crying and yelping Italy into a room and slamming the door behind him. Dread rushed into him. "Italy!" he cried, turning to the one he was time-travelling with. "I don't understand how this happened, but…I think we're in the future!"

"What? No, we're not! This has happened before," Italy pointed out, although he looked a bit freaked out as well. "I'm pretty sure this is the time you captured me when you said I'd get to eat pasta, but you only fed me hamburgers, right? Isn't it?"

England blinked, feeling stupid. Of course it wasn't the future. Why would he even think that his magic would go wrong? He cleared his throat. "O-oh, yes, of course."

Italy's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why would you think we're in the future?"

He cleared his throat again. "Let's go inside, shall we?"

As stealthily as they could, they made their way inside the Allies meeting room, where past England had just called America's attention, announcing that he had successfully captured Italy. The rejoicing did not last, however, for Italy was a rather boring hostage and a terrible slave.

"Ah, I remember now," said England. "We sent you back home after this, didn't we? And then hours later, you wound up here again, captured by France!"

"Hm, yeah," Italy muttered. The recollection of the event did not make him feel as amused as it made England. In fact, it only seemed to make him feel worse, recalling how idiotic he was for getting captured twice in such a short amount of time, and even getting Germany caught up in it the third time. He wanted to hit himself the moment he remembered how he revealed everything he knew about Germany - how he betrayed him, afraid of a bullet to the head. It took all that he had not to burst out crying.

England only noticed his anguish much later, after he had been hauled in by France. "O-oh," he stuttered as he watched Italy stare hard at the ground. Great, after all the time he had spent trying to console the little guy, he was upset again. "Say, Italy, why don't we move on to the next memory?"

The words did not register to Italy at all, but he at least recognized the sound of England's voice. Italy's eyes left the ground and focused on the scene before them. England and America had just finished yelling at France, and had successfully leashed their enemy. Despite the fact that he as currently being 'dogged', Italy had to smile. "I was kind of cute then, wasn't I?"

"Wh-" stammered England, but chose not to continue. That fact was the only thing Italy could say to make himself feel better, and the least England could do was not protest against it. Maybe even agree with it. He did _look _moderately cute, barking softly like that…even if he _did _ridicule England's cooking not long after. "Yes. Yes, you made quite the lovable dog." Then he sighed. "Look, Italy, you must feel bad after all you've witnessed here, but you need to know that you were just acting under pressure. It's a standard war-prisoner reaction, not anything particularly shameful. Any other soldier would have done it."

"Not Germany."

"Err, true, but still. It was a natural reaction. And if you keep basing all your actions on what Germany does, you'll lose your own personality along the way. Sure, you may not be as strong as him, but you have things that he doesn't too. It's the way life works."

The swirls had engulfed them before Italy had a chance to reply, but England's words actually made Italy feel better. For a minute, Italy actually felt like he wasn't completely useless, or a complete failure. As they travelled through time, Italy grinned to himself. _It's all clear now. Life is all about balance. I'm not as tough and macho as Germany, but he can't cook pasta or spread cheer as well as I can. We complement each other perfectly, and that means we have to stick together. If I apologize enough and show him how smart I am now, he _has_ to take me back. That's it! Ha, I don't even need the last memory!_

He landed safely on the concrete, a bright smile on his face. Italy was back.

=====o=====

_Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ Draw a circle, there is earth—_

_ …I can't take it anymore!_

For a split second, Italy thought that the fourth memory would be the greatest one yet. The weather was perfect – there was a bright, shining sun right above them, accompanied by fluffy-looking clouds and a fresh breeze. The entirety of the area was beautiful, especially since they were in an open field, abundant in grass, tiny plants, and (Italy guessed) adorable little bugs. He beamed at the sight before him.

He looked to his side and found England smiling as well. The worn and exhausted face he had on in the three previous sceneries were now gone, and Italy could have sworn that England looked as accomplished as he felt. He, too, probably knew that it was unnecessary for them to be here and that Italy was perfectly fine again. "Any sign of you?" he asked seconds after, looking around.

"Hmm, no," Italy said, "but listen, England! I just realized something. What you said about me not being macho or anything like Germany really helped, because now I know th— England?" His enthusiasm dropped.

Because England was no longer smiling as he was earlier. In fact, it looked as though he was no longer _breathing _as he was earlier. His already pale face paled even further and his eyes were as wide as— well, maybe not saucers, but getting there. And what made things even stranger was that he was staring right behind Italy.

"E-England?" Italy stammered, afraid of what he would see if he turned his head. "What's going on? I-is there a monster behind me or something?"

England gulped. "N-no, there isn't, but…" He reached over and touched Italy's shoulder. "Y-you know what? I don't even think we should be here. You've had your realization, and it's all good, and you don't even need this last memory, right, so I'll just blow the candle again and we can—"

But his rapid rambling did not persuade Italy. No, if anything, it intrigued him. Intrigued him so much that he stared at England, removed the hand on his shoulder, and turned around swiftly.

He shouldn't have.

He really shouldn't have.

In an instant, Italy felt that his world was crashing down. His vision blurred and a thick liquid made its way to the back of his throat, setting off a sick taste in his mouth. Before him, stood his past self — his self from only days ago — standing happily in the middle of the field. His self who still had Germany.

His self who was about to bomb Germany.

Before England could even offer a comforting syllable_, _Italy broke away from his grasp completely and ran towards the disturbing scene before him. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as Italy took step after step after step, and as England followed after. Everything was so slow, it was frustrating; England felt burdened and heavy, and knew that in his current condition, he would never be able to reach the running lad. Slowly, his hand reached out, attempting to at least throw Italy out of balance before he could do anything rash, but he stumbled.

He fell to the ground, but it didn't hurt. There was no pain, but plenty of panic as he desperately reached out to the Italian, who was about to make the biggest mistake of his life— in more ways than one.

_"ITALY!"_

There was a flash.

=====o=====

_Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ Draw a circle, there is earth…_

_ …I am Italy._

* * *

_A/N: Meep. An update after a long time. This turned out shorter than I hoped it would but, oh well. _

_Hopefully this story will turn out longer and more substantial as it progresses. In the mean time...well, happy reading! I hope. orz_


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